Chosen
by MomentarySetback
Summary: Post 7x06. Jon/Dany. During a sleepless night on the journey home to Dragonstone, Jon and Dany give in to their feelings for each other and build a plan to unite the kingdoms.


_Author's Note: This was my 2nd post-ep idea from episode 7.06, unrelated to my first (Promises)._ _A little more of what I hope happened on that boat ride home to Dragonstone._ _I'd wanted to get it up before the finale last night, but didn't quite make it! This was written and posted quickly before leaving the house, so please forgive any typos. :)_

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As the ship careened over black waves in the dead of night, Daenerys leaned into the railing at the bow of the ship, resting her head atop her forearms on the rails. Despite the choppy waves from winds and far off storm clouds, the sky above was clear and still, bright stars aglow above Rhaegal and Drogon coasting along with the boat.

Not very long ago at all, she'd been stranded in the center of the desert with no means of making it to the Seven Kingdoms, let alone sailing around them on ship after ship. And now here she was, on the very brink of what felt like everything.

It was there that Jon was surprised to find her, staring with a childlike wonder at the sparkling night sky and the seemingly endless rolling ocean. Despite the hour and the slim chance of her running into anyone but a few crew members, she'd twisted her unbraided hair into a delicate bun. A few unruly strands had escaped, though, curled and windblown in the humid, salty breeze. He knew they must be near Dragonstone again, judging by the warmth in the air.

"It's a beautiful night for not sleeping, isn't it?" Jon asked as he took a slow step closer. His entire night walk had been careful and slow as he tested out his legs for the first time in days.

She'd startled at the sound of someone behind her, but quickly smiled as her gaze fell onto him, her eyes alight beneath the moon and stars.

"You're up," she let out with a breath of relief and, with an unrestrained swiftness that surprised him even given their building intimacy, took several steps toward him. She rested a hand upon his chest as though needing to feel his even, healthy breaths, the beat of his heart, the steadiness of his healed body. And then, thinking of her composure and status, she hesitated to draw him into her arms as her instincts had begun to lead her to do.

Instead, she gave him an almost regretful smile and moved her hand over the fabric of his light, white long-sleeved shirt, feeling his heart pulse strongly beneath.

"You look well," she said decidedly. Though his complexion hadn't quite returned to normal, gone was the icy pallor of his skin and his strained breaths. The darkness beneath his eyes had almost disappeared as the easing of his pain had allowed him several restful days.

"So do you." He couldn't help but drink in the sight of her, cheeks rosy even in nothing but moonlight, hair a little undone, a less formal dress hanging off her shoulders to reveal her neck and collarbones. "The sea agrees with you."

"Maybe I agree with the sea," she quipped back, shrugging her shoulders playfully. She took a few steps back towards the tip of the bow and he followed, joining her at the railing. "It's good to see you walking about again."

"It's good to be walking about," he assured. "I believe I could even bend a certain knee if your grace desires." Keeping a hand on the rail, he shifted to lower one knee to the ground, but she quickly stopped him with a hand to his chest. And with a playful smile, she actually rolled her eyes at him and pushed him back up.

"I know where your allegiance lies," Daenerys told him, growing more serious as she met his eyes.

Holding her gaze, he smiled appreciatively and then fixed his eyes on the dark sea. "What's keeping you awake at this hour?"

She sighed, looking in the direction of their destination. "The kingdoms have no idea the Army of the Dead is coming, and yet we need to unite to defeat them… How do you convince thousands and thousands to disown their queen and support a cause they know nothing about? And how can we be even thinking of fighting Cersei Lannister's armies when we need to be focused on the Night King?"

Though their circumstances were overwhelming, Jon couldn't help the slight curve of his lips at her string of thoughts. She'd spoke of nothing but defeating the Night King and their voyage at sea during her recent, numerous visits to his quarters, and it was clear she'd been holding back her troubles while he recovered. More than that, though, she spoke with a maturity and grace and heart that had entered–well, returned to, according to Tyrion–her reign swiftly and suddenly. Although she knew that what she was asking of the kingdoms would make them better off under her rule, she'd regained an understanding of the need to convince people rather than just will them to shift their loyalties. To break chains once again and inspire love along with a bit of fear.

"Maybe we don't fight them at all," Jon suggested as the thought came to him. He recalled how he'd felt beyond the wall: terrified, responsible for the death of the men he'd taken along with him, and hopeless. And he remembered the magnificent sight of Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal, with Dany on his back, coming to his rescue. He would never forget it. "Maybe you save them, like you saved us."

She studied the stars, the plan falling into place before her. "We wait until they need our help."

"You said you had to see to know," he continued, his eyes urging her on as they met hers in understanding. "Some will die, but…"

"More will live," she finished confidently. "More than if we fight a war against the Lannisters and send a broken army against the Army of the Dead."

She shook her head in awe. Days and days of planning with her advisors had gotten them nowhere and a few words from Jon Snow had put everything in perspective.

Daenerys turned to him, her gaze softening as she met his deep brown eyes. She wasn't supposed to see anyone as an equal, and yet she trusted his intuition more than her own at times. When her patience waned, he was there to remind her to be different. And when he'd doubted that his people would accept an outside ruler, she'd proven him wrong and shown him it was the only way. They were opposites, really. She was born to rule, and he was made to.

"It's easy to see why the north chose you," she admitted, reaching out to squeeze his hand–a gesture that had become their signature given the boundaries between them.

Finally allowing her emotions to rule in the black of night, and finally, truly alone, she slid a daring hand up to the collar of his shirt and gently pulled him closer. He broke her gaze only to take in the perfect slope of her nose, the blue of her eyes this close, and the curve of her lips. It was all the invitation she needed, and tipping her chin up she caught his lips in a gentle kiss, her hand tugging at his collar.

"I would choose you a hundred times over," she breathed against his lips just before he captured hers again. Weeks of pent-up tension had their mouths crashing together, his hand finding her waist as he leaned her against the railing. The warm southern air had her clothed in little but a light grey dress, and he could easily feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers.

He released her bottom lip slowly, pressing another kiss there before allowing his recovering lungs a much-needed breath. She felt and tasted even more perfect than he'd imagined, but his body was weak and dizzy from the lack of air.

Wanting him to stay close, her hand traveled to the warmth of his neck, urging him down until he'd rested his forehead against hers.

"I will serve and fight for you as best I can," he promised her, "as long as I'm alive."

"And you have my word that I'll protect the north." She pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, promising with her eyes. "I will do everything I can to ensure the safety of your people, your family."

"I know you will," he assured her. At the mention of his family, Jon's brows furrowed in thought. He was falling in love with Daenerys Targaryen, and in the north, especially as a bastard boy, he'd been allowed to let his passions guide him. Even in the Watch, he'd found a way to stay true to his emotions. But that life was long gone, and many saw him as their king. The implications of their affection for one another were world-changing, he knew–for her, even more so than for him.

"Dany…" he began, quickly knitting his brows together when he'd realized he'd misspoke again. After her objection that first day on the boat, he'd worried she associated it with memories she'd rather forget. "I'm sorry. Your Grace-"

"Call me Dany," she insisted, surprising him with the sureness in her eyes. "I like the way it sounds on your lips."

Jon swallowed hard, feeling as though his heart were in his throat as she smiled back at him. "All right, then. Dany."

She visibly softened before him, the rumble of his voice as he spoke her name awaking a piece of her she'd long lost–a hopeful young girl who'd wished for a peaceful place to call home. As she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, Jon tucked a windblown strand of her white-blonde hair behind her ear, tracing the delicate skin their with his fingertips.

Above them, the call of a dragon forced both their gazes to the sky, where Rhaegal and Drogon had changed course. No longer following the path of the boat, they were flapping their wings against the winds, happily circling the air above them with proud, long strokes of their wings.

Dany turned back to Jon, narrowing her eyes as she studied him. "Don't you think it's curious that Drogon submitted to you?"

Jon's brows furrowed slightly as he searched her face questioningly. "I thought you told him to."

"I didn't tell him to do anything." She raised her brows, watching him as the implications of her words hit them both. Jon knew what it was like to have a connection with what everyone else saw as a beast of an animal, but Ghost was different; he'd raised him from a pup, and he was a Stark, connected to direwolves by birthright. To gain the trust of a full-grown dragon was an experience nearly unheard of.

"Maybe he sensed I was calm and comforted by the sight of you," she admitted, "but he chose you. Of his own free will."

Jon let the weight of it sink in, wondering if she was talking about more than the dragon as her eyes danced over him approvingly. "They're magnificent creatures," was all he could say, though his gaze remained on her.

"Yes," she agreed, looking to the sky before she met his eyes again. "And very wise."


End file.
